Never Say Goodbye
by queerpoet
Summary: <html><head></head>The serious conversation Kurt and Blaine should have had in Born This Way.</html>


_Kurt, don't leave me. _is what I want to say. _Stay here, let me take care of you. I'll keep you safe._

But I say nothing. I take his hand, in a sick parody of our first kiss, and whisper to the table.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I'm going back to McKinley. I'll finish out the week, then I'm going home." I hear the smile in his voice and glance up at him to confirm it.

_Home._ I know he doesn't mean to hurt me, but the word strikes like a stone in my gut.

He's practically glowing.

"Kurt, that's great." I say sincerely, but my voice sounds stiff and stifled. "But what about -"

"David and I have come to an understanding." he interjects.

"David?" I echo in disbelief. My mouth falls open and I stare at him for a long moment, trying to pierce that confident facade. "So it's David now?"

His mouth quirks into an embarrassed frown, and his hand grows sweaty underneath mine.

"Santana wants to be prom queen, and she's blackmailing D - Karofsky - to do it. I don't know the details, but he's promised to stop bullying. He's going to open a chapter of PFLAG with me, and patrol the schools to stop bullying. I don't really believe he's changed, but he would do anything to protect his secret, Blaine. Can't you just be happy for me?"

I try to speak, but the words stall in my throat, tight and husky. I remember the first day I met him, how small and scared he seemed. I remember Karofsky's hands digging into my flesh, as he threw me against the wall. In that moment, I'd been terrified. I'd become the scared timid boy who ran away from the taunts and abuse at my old school. I remember, and I feel the old anger boiling up inside me.

"Are you out of my mind?" I finally shout. "This guy threatened to kill you! He threw you into lockers for sport. He made you feel afraid to walk the halls of your own school, and when you confronted him, he mauled your face. He _sexually assaulted_ you, and you are really sitting here telling me you're going back to that school. Where that - that self-loathing homophobe - is. Just waiting for the chance to hurt you again. I don't buy any of this, Kurt. What happens if Santana loses prom? What happens if you come back, and he gets comfortable, seeing his _crush _everywhere? What if he gets you alone, and tries to -"

His eyes are shimmering, and I watch in despair as the tears fall down his face.

"You don't understand," he says coldly. "My parents can't afford to send me to Dalton. They couldn't afford it in the first place. So who cares if this change is false? It will be different this time, because everyone knows what he is. If he starts it up again, the principal will intervene. And I'm not some shrinking violet, Blaine. If you think I'm gonna just sit down and take anymore abuse from him, you don't know me at all."

"I didn't say that," I mumble. "You're twisting my words. I just don't want you to get hurt. If you leave, I can't protect you. I can't be there. I won't able to -"

"Like you did such a good job protecting me the first time. _Go confront him, Kurt. Stand up to him._ Worked out great, didn't it?"

He jerks his hand away, and I feel the loss like a physical wound. He throws some money on the table, and stands up.

"Kurt -" I plead. "Please don't go."

"You might to try looking at yourself some time," he spits, glaring at me. "I'm tired of running. I miss my friends. I miss my choir. I _have _to go back. If you don't get that, then we have a problem."

He puts his shoulder bag on angrily, and walks away.

The tears I've been holding back finally gush down my cheeks. I rub my hands together, trying to remember the feel of his smooth skin. But all I can feel is my own skin, my own hands.

I blink away the tears, and resolve to fix it the only way I know how.

I drive home in a daze, and blindly put some music on.

I sit down at my desk, and begin to write him a letter. But the lyrics are too beautiful to ignore.

_Oh simple thing, where have you gone?  
>I'm getting old and I need something to rely on <em>

_So tell me when you're gonna let me in  
>I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin<em>

Yeah, this could work.

I begin to hum the lyrics. I grab my guitar and gently finger the chords. Before I know it, my voice is soaring throughout the room.

_And if you have a minute, why don't we go  
>Talk about it somewhere only we know?<br>This could be the end of everything  
>So why don't we go somewhere only we know?<br>Somewhere only we know_

I sing the entire song, and when it's over, I'm overcome with sadness. I cling to my guitar, openly weeping.

I fumble for my phone, and send Kurt a quick text.

"I'm so sorry," I write. "Please just give me a chance to explain. I only want you to be happy."

I send the text, and turn off the phone. I can't bear the possible rejection. Besides, I have a lot of work to do.

I listen to the song one more time, and feel some sense of control come back.

The actual performance is a blur. I remember pulling him down the stairs. The tears falling unabashedly down my cheeks. I know I look like death warmed over, my eyes puffy and swollen from hours of crying.

What I remember most of all is the look on his face, the dawning wonder.

He pulls me close at the end. My hands tremble, first clutching his hair, then travel down his back.

I never want to let him go.

His mouth cups my ear, and I hear his voice, rough with tears murmur, "I'll never say goodbye to you."

"Me neither." I whisper. "Me neither."


End file.
